


And All These Twisted Thoughts I See

by poisontaster



Series: Sex Pollen [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Mutual Non-Con, Sex Pollen, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-17
Updated: 2006-05-17
Packaged: 2018-04-25 05:33:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4948585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's sex pollen, what else do you need to know?</p>
            </blockquote>





	And All These Twisted Thoughts I See

It's the stupid plants.

Dean knows this. He does. There's no other explanation for why Sam is like he is now, wide eyed and frantic, shoving Dean up against a wall hard enough that Dean's going to feel it for days, rubbing himself frantically up and down against Dean's body like a cat.

Sam's eyes are half-lidded, but if Dean could see them, he'd bet they'd be blown and fucked out, glazed. Sam is whining too, in the back of his throat, high, pained keening.

It's the plants, it has to be.

Louis LeChard had been a man of many pharmacologic talents as well as a practicing witch. They'd had to tramp miles through the now-fallow fields of pot _(No, Dean, we are not taking any of it with us!)_ and poppies and finally through the strange pink and brown tiger striped flowers at the back end of the property before they'd found where LeChard's stripped and chewed bones had been shallowly buried, presumably by his shady associates.

"Please Dean...I need...it's like I'm gonna come apart, burn up from the inside out...Dean...please." Sam's tongue slips wetly from the pit of Dean's throat, traces his jugular against the grain of his beard, slides along his jaw and then dips into the hollow of his ear, ticklish and erotic at the same time.

"Sam," he gasps, not resisting but not helping, either. "Sam…"

Sam's eyes open and they're just as dark and wild as Dean thought they would be. "You gonna tell me no?" he asks, deeper, rougher. It's a pretty terrifying look, as they go. Not that he thinks Sam would hurt him, but that this is a Sam with no boundaries, no control…which are pretty much Sam's watchwords. This is Sam unfiltered and Dean is both surprised and unsurprised to see how deep the darkness goes.

"Fuck," Sam says a second later, before closing in on Dean's mouth. "I don't fucking care."

Dean doesn't fight Sam—doesn't _want_ to—letting Sam strip him, cover him in wet open mouthed kisses and bruising bites, lets his hands go in and out and wherever they want to go, let's Sam bend him, turn him, thrust against him, in him, on him. It's not lovemaking and it’s not quite fucking and fucked if Dean has a name to give to it and fucked if he's going to try because even though he never let himself think about this before, there's a part of him that just can't argue with it and doesn't want to.

"Sam," he whispers, in the dimness as the sun goes down around them. It's hours, it's been _hours_ and they're not done yet.

"Dean," Sam groans back and then they've said everything there is to say.

It's the plants. It _has_ to be.


End file.
